


Once in a Lifetime

by Madame de flammes (owlaholic68)



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Mild Blood, Mild Language, Spoilers, The Adventure Zone: Dust - Freeform, Vampire Bites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:59:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlaholic68/pseuds/Madame%20de%20flammes
Summary: Gandy imagines death to be stalking her on a dark street, always just behind her, gone from sight when she turns to look.





	Once in a Lifetime

The graveyard may have been Gandy’s idea, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t one-hundred-percent regret it now. Even the previously soothing and peaceful voice of Michael, the archangel of  _ fucking death,  _ was doing little to stop her stomach from churning like a steam engine at top speed. 

“You have nothing to fear from me,” Michael murmurs, with the voice of a moonlit sky and soft earth under her feet. It does not do a lot to comfort her. 

With one hand on the brick wall, the rough grain digging into her hand and grounding her, Gandy straightens and turns back to the corpse, back to Michael. She takes a deep breath through her mouth. It’s time to do her job and look at the body. Errol at her side is a comforting presence. Michael, ever so polite and considerate, steps back to give her some space to work, and also so he’s out of her line of sight. 

That also does not do much to help, since she knows he’s still there. Still, it’s the thought that counts. 

* * *

Gandy steps out of the chilly desert night. Cold like the grave, like heat leaching from a rapidly decaying body. Cold like the brick wall in the graveyard stealing all living warmth from her hand, like Michael the good ol’ Angel of Death could do in an instant. 

“Uncle Oni?” She wonders if he keeps her Sanctum magically heated somehow, because it always seems to be just the right temperature. On sizzling summer days, it’s cool and refreshing, and on nights like tonight, it’s toasty warm, smelling of sandalwood and cloves. 

“Yes?” He pops his head, demonic yet cherubic, out of a book. “Do you have a question for me, Gandy?”

A shiver creeps up her neck despite the warmth in the air. Why does everything in her life have to be this creepy? She discards her jacket on a plush armchair and loosens her cravat and the top button of her shirt. “Uncle Oni, I brought some evidence for you to look at. Dried blood-”

“Disgusting!” he chirps. “Give me my glasses and I’ll take a look!”

The pince-nez glasses leave an imprint on her nose when she takes them off. She unclips them from the chain around her neck, hands the delicate glasses over to Uncle Oni’s puppet hand, then rubs the indent. She doesn’t have to wear them as often as she does, but the uncomfortable pinching sensation helps remind her of her own corporeal state, of the limited time she has left. 

When they go back on her nose, she smiles and trades some witty jabs with Uncle Oni, because she still has her soul and she’s still alive, and that counts for something.

* * *

Isabella Slate’s right hand is cold as it splays against Gandy’s neck, her lean fingers pressing in certain spots. Her left hand is wrapped around Gandy’s waist just above the hem of her skirt, firm and strong, supporting her back. 

“Just remain calm and breathe as you would normally,” Augustus reminds her from his position floating a few feet above the ground. She nods, shivering as Isabella’s long curly hair brushes her ear as she does. 

“Here,” Isabella mutters, pressing down on a spot on the side of Gandy’s neck just under her collar. “Do you mind unbuttoning your shirt a bit? It’ll make it easier and cleaner.” 

Feeling nervous and very exposed, Gandy unties her already loosened cravat and undoes the top three buttons of her shirt. Then, after a moment of thought, she slips off her gold torc and places it on the table a few feet away next to her dusty faded cravat. She licks her lips and wipes her hands on the rough fabric of her plain travelling skirt, looking up slightly at Isabella, who is mere inches from her face, one hand still on Gandy’s waist, the other cupping the back of her head. 

It would almost be like a lover’s embrace, or the flowing lines of a Greek couple caught in marble, if not for the context. Isabella leans down. Gandy’s breath quickens.

“Relax, girl.” Her voice is husky, the shape of the words whispered into Gandy’s skin. “This isn’t my first time.” 

She bites. 

There’s a prick of fangs, then nothing. Gandy’s knees buckle and her head lolls against Isabella’s shoulder. Only her firm arm is keeping her upright. She can’t feel anything, can’t hear anything besides the roaring in her ears. Is this what it feels like to die? 

She sluggishly blinks and Augustus is peering down at her, his narrowed eyes glancing between her and Isabella. She wants to say something, give him a sign that everything is okay and nothing hurts, but she can’t seem to move. This must be a feature of vampiric feedings, to stop unwilling...participants from struggling or fleeing. 

Her next blink seems to take minutes, a fuzz taking over her brain and blurring her thoughts. All she can do is stare wide-eyed up at Augustus with her lips half-formed in a gasp. She’s limp and slumped over Isabella’s shoulder as she steals a precious drink of Gandy’s slowly dwindling life force. 

Another blink, and it’s over. 

“There, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?” Isabella pulls away and props Gandy up in a chair. She delicately wipes her mouth with a handkerchief, then dabs at the wound that her teeth made against Gandy’s smooth skin. “This might be sore for a day, but it’ll heal fast.” 

The basement room swims before her eyes, then steadies. Augustus presses a glass of water into her hands, his craggy eyebrows pulled down into a frown. Her hands shake and her heartbeat, her strong living heartbeat, thuds in her ears. 

“Ow.” She takes a sip of the water. The details of the incident that just occured are just out of reach in her memory. Another evolutionary feature of the process, presumably to avoid traumatizing the victims. 

She swallows hard. “Now, about that information…”


End file.
